“I know, I know—a cruel war!
But wait—even Mosby’ll eat his bun;
The Old Hearth—back to it anon!”
But cordial words no balm could bring;
She sighed, and kept her inward chafe,
And seemed to hate the voice of glee—
Joyless and tearless. Soon he called
An escort: “See this lady safe
In yonder house.—Madam, you’re free.
And now for Mosby.—Guide! with me.”